Mrs. Ford. Why, does he talk of him?
Mrs. Page. Of none but him, and swears he was carried out, the last time he search’d for him, in a basket; protests to my husband he is now here, and hath drawn him and the rest of their company from their sport, to make another experiment of his suspicion. But I am glad the knight is not here. Now he shall see his own foolery.
Mrs. Ford. How near is he, Mistress Page?
Mrs. Page. Hard by, at street end; he will be here anon.
Mrs. Ford. I am undone! the knight is here.
Mrs. Page. Why then you are utterly sham’d, and he’s but a dead man. What a woman are you? Away with him, away with him! Better shame than murther.
Mrs. Ford. Which way should he go? How should I bestow him? Shall I put him into the basket again?
[Enter Falstaff.]
Fal. No, I’ll come no more i’ th’ basket. May I not go out ere he come?
Mrs. Page. Alas! three of Master Ford’s brothers watch the door with pistols, that none shall issue out; otherwise you might slip away ere he came. But what make you here?
Fal. What shall I do? I’ll creep up into the chimney.
Mrs. Ford. There they always use to discharge their birding-pieces. Creep into the kill-hole.
Fal. Where is it?
Mrs. Ford. He will seek there, on my word. Neither press, coffer, chest, trunk, well, vault, but he hath an abstract for the remembrance of such places, and goes to them by his note. There is no hiding you in the house.
Fal. I’ll go out then.
[Mrs. Page]. If you go out in your own semblance, you die, Sir John—unless you go out disguis’d.
Mrs. Ford. How might we disguise him?
Mrs. Page. Alas the day, I know not! There is no woman’s gown big enough for him; otherwise he might put on a hat, a muffler, and a kerchief, and so escape.
Fal. Good hearts, devise something; any extremity rather than a mischief.
Mrs. Ford. My maid’s aunt, the fat woman of Brainford, has a gown above.
Mrs. Page. On my word, it will serve him; she’s as big as he is. And there’s her thrumm’d hat and her muffler too. Run up, Sir John.
Mrs. Ford. Go, go, sweet Sir John. Mistress Page and I will look some linen for your head.
Mrs. Page. Quick, quick! we’ll come dress you straight. Put on the gown the while.
[Exit Falstaff.]
Mrs. Ford. I would my husband would meet him in this shape. He cannot abide the old woman of Brainford. He swears she’s a witch, forbade her my house, and hath threat’ned to beat her.
Mrs. Page. Heaven guide him to thy husband’s cudgel; and the devil guide his cudgel afterwards!
Mrs. Ford. But is my husband coming?
Mrs. Page. Ay, in good sadness, is he, and talks of the basket too, howsoever he hath had intelligence.
Mrs. Ford. We’ll try that; for I’ll appoint my men to carry the basket again, to meet him at the door with it, as they did last time.
Mrs. Page. Nay, but he’ll be here presently. Let’s go dress him like the witch of Brainford.
Mrs. Ford. I’ll first direct my men what they shall do with the basket. Go up, I’ll bring linen for him straight.
[Exit.]
Mrs. Page.
Hang him, dishonest varlet! we cannot misuse [him] enough.
We’ll leave a proof, by that which we will do,
Wives may be merry, and yet honest too:
We do not act that often jest and laugh;
’Tis old, but true: still swine eats all the draff.
[Exit.]
[Enter Mistress Ford with two] Servants.
Mrs. Ford. Go, sirs, take the basket again on your shoulders. Your master is hard at door. If he bid you set it down, obey him. Quickly, dispatch.
[Exit.]
1. Serv. Come, come, take it up.
2. Serv. Pray heaven it be not full of knight again.
1. Serv. I hope not, I had lief as bear so much lead.
[Enter] Ford, Page, Caius, Evans, Shallow.
Ford. Ay, but if it prove true, Master Page, have you any way then to unfool me again? Set down the basket, villain! Somebody call my wife. Youth in a basket! O you panderly rascals, there’s a knot, a [ging], a pack, a conspiracy against me. Now shall the devil be sham’d. What, wife, I say! Come, come forth! Behold what honest clothes you send forth to bleaching!
Page. Why, this passes, Master Ford. You are not to go loose any longer, you must be pinion’d.
Evans. Why, this is lunatics! this is mad as a mad dog!
Shal. Indeed, Master Ford, this is not well indeed.
Ford. So say I too, sir.
[Enter Mistress Ford.]
Come hither, Mistress Ford, Mistress Ford, the honest woman, the modest wife, the virtuous creature, that hath the jealious fool to her husband! I suspect without cause, mistress, do I?
Mrs. Ford. Heaven be my witness you do, [and] if you suspect me in any dishonesty.
Ford. Well said, brazen-face! hold it out. Come forth, sirrah!
[Pulling clothes out of the basket.]
Page. This passes!
Mrs. Ford. Are you not asham’d? Let the clothes alone.
Ford. I shall find you anon.
Evans. ’Tis unreasonable! Will you take up your wive’s clothes? Come away.
Ford. Empty the basket, I say!
Mrs. Ford. Why, man, why?
Ford. Master Page, as I am a man, there was one convey’d out of my house yesterday in this basket. Why may not he be there again? In my house I am sure he is. My intelligence is true, my jealousy is reasonable. Pluck me out all the linen.
Mrs. Ford. If you find a man there, he shall die a flea’s death.
Page. Here’s no man.
Shal. By my fidelity, this is not well, Master Ford; this wrongs you.
Evans. Master Ford, you must pray, and not follow the imaginations of your own heart. This is jealousies.
Ford. Well, he’s not here I seek for.
Page. No, nor no where else but in your brain.
Ford. Help to search my house this one time. If I find not what I seek, show no color for my extremity; let me for ever be your table-sport. Let them say of me, “As jealous as Ford, that search’d a hollow walnut for his wive’s leman.” Satisfy me